The Death of Billy Walker
by Zaitak
Summary: The final day of Billy Walker's life.


Billy's eyes widened as the blade hit home in his gut. With a gasp, he fell to his knees. The boy backed away as Billy fell, horror written on his face. Shaking, he snatched up the wallet and ring box from the alley ground. "You should...y-you should have let me have them! Then...then this wouldn't...we'd be...be okay..." Turning away, he ran down the trash-strewn alley, around a corner, and was gone.

As Billy's life-blood spilled out of him, he laid down on his back, trying desperately to staunch the flow. "Debra," he muttered, his eyes starting to mist over. It was getting harder by the moment for him to stay awake. "I'm...sorry."

* * *

_Today is the day_, the first thoughts on his mind when he woke up that morning. The second thought was, _Hey, are those scrambled eggs I smell?_ With a quick hop, Billy was out of the small, two-person bed. After running a comb through his thinning brown hair, he started to put on a set of normal, everyday clothes, but remembered the plan. Putting them down, he grabbed up his work clothes, a pair of worn blue jeans and a slightly stained short-sleeved white shirt. Out the bedroom door, down the hall towards the kitchen, where Debra was putting the finishing touches on the eggs he had smelled. Billy noticed she was still in her light blue robe; she would be working the midday shift at the hospital, else she'd be dressed by now. He planted a quick kiss on her cheek, breathing in her smell, a mix of scrambled eggs and raspberry perfume. He took another quick sniff before grabbing a plate off the counter. _Odd, but pleasant_, he thought. _Of course, everything is pleasant with Debra._ "Morning hon." Billy spooned some of the eggs onto his plate. 

"Morning Billy," she replied, getting a glass out of the cupboard. Billy sat down and watched appreciatively as she reached up, the hem of her robe going up also, exposing more of her soft, beautiful, ivory legs. He reached out and gave her a playful pinch. She jumped up a bit in surprise. "Billy!"

Billy let loose with a hearty chuckle and tried again. Debra stepped to the side, her light brown hair swishing in the air, and smacked his hand. "Fine, fine, I give, I give!" With another short laugh, he went to eating his eggs, scarfing them down as fast as he could.

"Whoa, whoa there, what's with the rush? Trying to choke yourself?" She poured herself a glass of orange juice, her deep blue eyes showing confusion and a bit of concern.

He finished off the eggs and went towards the door, where his big, black work boots were. "Big job at the yards today, gotta start early, if I'm gonna make it back for supper tonight." He slipped on his socks and boots as fast as he could.

"Well, okay..." She trailed off. Billy looked up and saw her face, full of, of all things, worry and anxiety.

"What's wrong Deb?"

"Oh, nothing I suppose, I just..." Her eyes seemed distant. "...something feels...tense. Nervous. I dunno, I just feel off today, I guess. Bad dreams." She walked over and laid her hand on his shoulder as he stood up. She looked him in the eyes for a long moment. Finally, she broke the silence. "Be careful out there, Billy."

He smiled and pulled her close to him, still enjoying her raspberry perfume, even more so without the egg smell. "There, there. Nothing to worry about. I'll go out, get the job done, and be back tonight, and we'll go to that new restaurant down at 3rd and Smith, enjoy the meal, and you know what? If you're up to it, how about we go back up to Nigel's Bluff?"

"Oh, Billy, you know I'd love to go. We haven't went up there in years," she smiled dreamily, remembering. "I'd love to see what the view looks like now."

Billy leaned down, and they kissed for a long moment. When they stopped, he let her go. "There, it's settled." He reached out and gave her shoulder-length hair an affectionate tug. "Now," he said, looking up at the small black clock hanging on the wall, "I've got to get going."

Debra sighed. "I should be getting ready for work soon enough, anyway." She started walking back towards the kitchen, but stopped and turned back a moment. "I love you Billy Walker."

Billy was halfway out the door when she spoke, so he turned around also. "I love you too, Debra Worthing." With that, he blew a kiss, shut the door behind him, and walked quickly down the sidewalk, from his home in suburbia to the main core of downtown Bournesville. He kept his pace up the entire way, but not because he had a long, hard job ahead that he wanted to get done. In reality, Billy was off of work today. No, he had something else in mind. Something much more important than work.

* * *

Billy could almost feel his body shutting down on him, first a toe, then a foot, then a leg. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to stop the blood loss. He knew better than to pull out the knife, in fact probably couldn't at this point. He pressed his blood-drenched hands against the wound, but he was having trouble feeling them now.

An old derelict stumbled into the alley, his gait showing he'd had a few more hits at the whiskey bottle than he probably should have. "Hey, mister," the old bum rasped, "you oka..." The man may have been a bit drunk when he walked in on the scene, but he sobered up quite quickly when he saw the knife and the blood. "Holy mother of...Frank!" he yelled down the way he'd come. "Frank, there's a guy done been stabbed down here! Get help!"

He rushed over to Billy as well as he could. "Just hold on, mister," he said, obviously trying not to panic. "Here." He put his old, wrinkled and calloused hands on Billy's, helping push against the flow. "Just hold on. Help'll get here."

_There is no help. There is no hope._

Billy coughed, blood flecking his lips. "De...Deb...ra...get…De…bra…"

* * *

**Mulberry Jewelry Shop**, the sign above the door said. Billy pushed open the door, and walked in. The store's lights were dim, and it took some time before his eyes adjusted. His gaze was quickly drawn to the target, the prize, the very reason for his trip that day. There, sitting on the second shelf in the glass counter, was a ring. Not just any ring, though.

"Debra's ring," Billy whispered. It was perfect for her. A small, silver ring, two bands twisted around one another, made to look like vines. It even had small, delicate-looking leaves. A work of art, one that Debra had admired the few times they'd been in or near the shop. And Billy was going to get it for her.

There was no one behind the counter. Billy reached out and rang the small, golden service bell. Nothing. Billy's foot tapped nervously against the plush, dull-red carpet. He rang the bell again. And another time.

Finally, an old man hobbled out of the back rooms. "I'm coming, I'm coming, hold your horses, I'm coming. I can only go so fast, y'know." He walked forward with a simple black cane in his right hand; the leg on the same side dragged along the floor. His back was hunched forward some, his hair all fallen out, and his face baggy and wrinkled, but Billy noticed the old man's light-blue eyes shined brightly as he finally made it to the counter and looked up at him. "Now, welcome to my store, I'm James Mulberry. How can I help you?"

Billy had broken out into a bit of a sweat. He was happy and exhilarated and nervous at the same time. This was one of those "big things" his father had spoken of when he'd held Billy on his knee when he was nine, sitting out on the porch swing. It was the first serious talk they'd had, and one of the last; his father was killed in a car crash a year later.

"I would like," Billy started, pointing down at the ring in question, "to buy that."

The old jeweler looked down at the ring, and then looked back up at Billy. His face was stern. "You want that ring down there? The silver vines?"

Billy nodded. "Yes sir, I do."

"And why would you want such a thing?"

Billy was confused at the old man's demeanor. _Why is he interrogating me?_ "Well, sir, I plan on proposing to marry my girlfriend tonight, and that ring is what she would want more than any other ring I know of, I think."

For a long moment, James Mulberry stared unblinking at Billy, his gaze both piercing and commanding. Billy tried his best to match it, but after a bit he glanced away, unable to continue. The jeweler gave a small nod, and his coldness seemed to melt away. He smiled as he gently bent down, picked up the ring, and put it in a ring box on the counter. "I apologize for my manner. I was reluctant to give this ring to just any yahoo off the street." He picked up the ring box and walked over to the cash register. "Y'see, mister," he said, "this ring was one of the last that I made before the arthritis made it too hard to work the tools." He looked wistfully at the ring. "I used to be able to make such beauties...ah, that was then, this is now, I suppose." Mr. Mulberry put the ring box back on the counter, in front of Billy. "Least I have the memories."

Mulberry rang up the ring, and Billy pulled out his checkbook. He winced at the price; it was more than he liked paying for anything. Still, he'd saved up all that money for a reason, and this was it. He handed Mulberry the check, and the old jeweler handed him the ring box.

"Good day, son. Treat her well." With that command, the old man started walking back into the back rooms.

"The ring, or the girl?" Billy joked. Mulberry gave a wheezing chuckle and waved him on his way.

Billy, with the ring in his hands, walked out of the Mulberry Jewelry Shop.

* * *

_So...hard...can't...concentrate..._

His stomach hurt, badly. What blood that wasn't leaking out of him felt like fire to his veins and arteries. Those he could still feel, that is.

"Come on mister," the bum pleaded. "Keep holding on, don't need too much longer, help will be here soon."

Billy was losing feeling in his hands.

_Can't...stay...stay awake..._

"Keep breathing, don't stop breathing. Soon, soon." The homeless man held Billy's hands in his own, helping them push down even more on the knife-wound, still trying to stop the bleeding.

_Hurts...hurts so much...God, why does it hurt so much...?_

His eyes started to focus and unfocus of their own accord.

_Soon...

* * *

_

_Soon..._, he thought. _Soon, I'll be home, I'll get things ready for tonight, we'll have a romantic evening, and then..._ Billy smiled the greatest smile a man can, as he held that small ring box in his hand.

He looked down at his watch. "Oh, hell, gonna be late." He looked around him, getting his bearings. _What's the fastest way home from here?_ He spied an alleyway a little ways down the road. _Yeah, I can cut through the alleys and get back with plenty of time to spare._ He hurried his pace even more, and went into the maze of alleyways that criss-crossed downtown Bournesville.

The mugger was a surprisingly young man. His clothes were big on him, and worn. He had probably gotten them from the local Salvation Army, during one of their infrequent clothes collection drives. He hadn't shaved in a while, or, as Billy's nose noticed, bathed either. He was young, though, that much Billy was certain of. He didn't have the creases and wrinkles in his face that most homeless had.

He'd also gotten the drop on Billy. Had come out of a dark corner he hadn't noticed, and now he was standing in front of him, brandishing a knife. Looked threatening. Well, tried to. He was very obviously nervous, scared even. He couldn't hold the knife still, and he stammered when he talked. This was probably the first time he'd done this. "You c-ch-chose the wrong alley today, m-mister."

_Shit_, Billy thought. Not what he needed, not today. "Son...put the knife down, son."

"No! Now...now h-hand over your wa-wallet!" The boy, for he was little more than one, had steeled himself some.

"Listen, here, I know things are tough out here, but you don't have to..."

"No!" The boy's face was flushed with anger. "You don't know anything about how tough anything is. Now hand over your fucking wallet!"

"Okay, okay!" Billy slowly pulled out his wallet. "Okay, there, see? No need for any of this. There's not much there, but you can have it." As he opened the billfold, the mugger saw the ring box in his other hand.

"That too."

"What?" Billy looked down at the box. "Oh no, not that."

The boy nodded. "Yes. The money and the box. Now."

Billy growled. "Listen here you..."

"No, you listen here!" The knife came alarmingly close to his face. "I have the knife, you don't. I'm the one giving the orders, you're not. And I'm saying give me the fucking box too, or I'm gonna cut your face up, hear?" The signs of nervousness he had earlier had all but disappeared, but Billy knew they were still near the surface, waiting to be exploited.

_I can take him_, Billy thought to himself. _But what if I...no, he won't get this. It's for Debra._ "Okay, okay...here..." _One...Two..._"Three!" With that cry, Billy threw himself at the mugger.

Back and forth they struggled with each other in that alleyway, each one trying to get control of the knife. They mugger-to-be wasn't about to let a chance at food go to waste, and Billy wasn't about to let someone take away what he'd worked so hard to get, for someone he loved so much. Neither of them was going to concede to the other. The boy was young, though, and Billy's long work at the construction yards was showing through. Slowly, he started to pry the knife from the other's hands...

With a strangled cry, the boy twisted his body towards the ground, trying to jerk the knife away. Billy followed, but something happened, something went wrong. A sick, wet sound, then silence. The boy let go and backed away, the knife firmly embedded in Billy's stomach.

* * *

_And now...this._

He could barely hear the beggar any more, let alone see him.

"Someone! Anyone!" the old man cried out. "Get an ambulance, the police, call 911, do something!"

He felt himself going. His time was running out. The pain had faded. That was something at least, even if it was because the pain cells were dead.

Billy's body started convulsing; shaking as his nerves flared and died, flared and died.

_Tick…_

Drinking beer down at Benny's Tavern with Al and Max after a late evening shift, a jazz solo blaring on the jukebox. Laughter and pretzels filled the air as the Grammy Awards were handed out on the TV.

_Tock…_

Al's face, so white, so pale, his hand caught in one of the large machines at the worksite. A "freak accident", they said, a "cosmic improbability" the insurance investigators had written in their report. The artificial hand Al would have to use for the rest of his life.

_Tick…_

The first time he and Debra made love, late at night at Nigel's Bluff, overlooking the whole valley. Her hair the smell of coconut, her body of lust. Lying there afterwards, silent, contentedly watching the stars in the cloud-splotched sky.

_Tock…_

The only time he'd ever hit her, truly hit her. The fight was stupid, but so was he, and he'd slapped her. Her eyes when she looked at him, so sad, so accusing. She stayed with her sister for a week after that. He had felt so bad about it he didn't know how he didn't kill himself over it.

_Tick…_

The nightmares he had as a child, of falling and darkness and monsters, how he'd wake up screaming, only to have his mother wrap him in her gentle arms and sing him wordless songs until he fell back to sleep.

_Tock…_

The coldness of her skin as she lay in her casket, dead of...age, sickness, sadness? Didn't matter, all that mattered was that his mother, the woman that had held him when he was scared, that had dried his tears when he was sad, and all that other cliché mom stuff, was gone. It rained that day, and he was thankful; it made it easier to hide the tears as they lowered her into the ground.

_Tick..._

...and that was it. His time was up.

"Keep breathing, mister, don't stop breathing…"

"De…de…d…"

Footsteps, a few pairs by the sound of it, pounded the concrete as they rushed towards them. The squeaky and rattle-y sound of a stretcher on wheels. _Shouldn't I have heard sirens? Or did I already? _"It's okay sir, help's here."

"What took you so long?" the bum demanded. Billy tried to move his head over to see the new-comers, but he couldn't muster the strength. "He's hurt, dear Jesus it's so bad."

Billy felt, though barely, a set of hands go over him and is injuries. "His only chance is if we get him to the ER, now." A second new voice. "Move on three, one, two...three!" A couple of people picked him up and laid him on the stretcher.

"Deb…de…"

His body gave one last shake, and fell still.

"Shit, he's going!"

"Hurry up, hurry up!"

"Hang on sir, we're almost to the ambulance, just hang on."

_Debra..._

William Theodore Walker's strength was gone, and darkness closed over him.


End file.
